Close to Cold

We were at the base of the staircase and walked the corridor gloom into the sepulchre. Glints of frost flickered in the stones, our eyes scanning. This was the moment the Professor had warned us about, when our resolve would be tested. Without question we had the knowledge, and thanks to him we had the kit. Even so, I looked down into my canvas bag, our eyes were still shifting between the darkness and each other, the cumulus of our breath emanating like ectoplasm. There it was. We had found it: a monolith, horizontal and menacing. We walked towards it. We felt its chill that threatened a cold that bites and burns. Behind us, a voice, understated but taunting:

‘Gentlemen, thank you for joining us.’

Then light filled the room with faces we knew. The Coors Stag weekend had begun.